


Limbo

by orphan_account



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Detailed Suicidal Thoughts, Pre-Game Oma Kokichi, that's basically the entire fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 08:04:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20672021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: short kin vent I wrote like 3 months ago during a breakdown hh… ;-; i wasnt going 2 post it but i was reading back over it and decided "hm I kinda like how i wrote this... okay 2nite i will post it!"





	Limbo

Two weeks.

Has it even been two weeks? Ouma would try to count the days but right now he doesn’t feel like it, and even though a part of his mind weakly cries out that he shouldn’t, all he wants to do is focus on his thoughts. He can hear the way his breath hitches, his fingers twitching as tears well up in his eyes over and over again. Within the span of two weeks, he’s become far too familiar with these details. He’s never felt this bad for so long before, and at this point he’s beginning to wonder if it’ll ever end.

He remembers what happened last week. 

Last week only feels like yesterday, which could make a shred of logical sense since it’s Friday. But it’s two in the morning, so isn’t this just a repeat of last week? This has happened quite a bit since then, although usually not in the bathroom. Everytime it starts, Ouma vividly recalls the details of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The way his hair fell over his face, the indescribably sad, desperate look in his eyes as he watched the way they glistened. He felt like what he was looking at was him, but at the same time felt completely detached from his reflection. 

Most vividly, Ouma remembers the way he breathed. His hands shakily gripped the bathroom counter as he stared at his chest. He could see the way it heaved. Ouma was hardly thinking at the moment, but when he focused on that he felt a bit different. Maybe more detached, more jittery. Maybe it just made him sink more into the thoughts he was having. 

There was a bottle of rubbing alcohol next to him on the sink, a spray bottle of something Clorox right behind him on the side of the tub, and God knows what underneath the sink. So Ouma just stood there for whatever reason, thinking about how it would feel if he drank them. Unscrewing the spray bottle on the Clorox, taking a gulp of it. How it’d feel to swallow it. Whether it’d be better to be cautious or to just chug it. He figured it’d probably taste bad. He wondered what it’d do to his body, how bad it would hurt. He had no idea.

Ouma shuddered, putting his hands over his face and leaning down into the sink. Tears silently streamed down his face as he tried his best not to make any noise. It was always a sort of game he played where everytime he cried, he’d try to make sure nobody noticed. It wasn’t the end of the world if he made any noise, but every noise felt like an outlier. He was surprised that he managed to be almost completely silent at the sink.

Afterward he went back to his room and spent about thirty minutes thinking about his life and everything that had happened up until then. It had mixed results. Occasionally he’d think about how doomed he was from the start, how everything until that day had led his life to a dead end, that there was no hope and that this was the end. Then he’d think about how real he was, and the people he had made promises to. The “stay safe” that he would type into his group chat whenever Saihara had talked about similar things. It made him cry again, for better or for worse.   
Ouma cried a lot, and sometimes those cries were absolute goods or absolute bads. Other times, in one way or another, it was something indescribable. A sort of limbo in terms of crying.

A limbo that seemed neverending. Sometimes, Ouma could've sworn he was a husk. 

He didn't know what he felt like. Just a dead man with a constant urge to carve into his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> does it hav a good ending? absolutely not. what do u take me 4, a good writer? i hav 2 laugh.


End file.
